What do you get out of traveling? Memories came rushing in like those scenes
from some movies. Here how it came to me:

People applauding in unison with the graceful swirling of that guy
inside the Sri Krishna Janmabhoomi Temple right before opening the curtain
revealing the image of Lord Krishna, it was a very festive mood inside the
temple. Stepping in at the neighboring Shahi
EIdgah Mosque couple of minutes after marching out of the Hindu temple, it was
a different mood, solemn, no festival ceremonies whatsoever, just people doing
the sujud and ruku while praying to "Allah Almighty". Both places of worship are inside the same
compound co-existing albeit on a tight security. [Scene faded].

Then, I remember the Indian family who I was sitting with on the dining table when
our bus on the way to Agra made a stop on this popular restaurant serving one
of the fiercest (hot level 5!) chicken masala I’ve ever tasted. Watching them squash and mold the curried
rice with their full hands and thrusting it into their mouth while chatting
with me. Easily one of the most
memorable conversations I’ve had in years. Then, I remember in 2012, one of those
Kardashians showbiz celebrity once apologized to Indians after calling their
national dish disgusting.

Then came to mind the
cute little toddler crossing my way while I was marching the quaint street of
old Damascus – possibly 2 years old - who extended his right hand to shake mine
while flashing those endearing smiles, it’s something that really warm the coldest
heart. You can never refuse an extended
hand no matter how sticky it was. [scene faded].

Then came the loud chanting of a group of merrymaking youths at the bus station in Buyuk Otogar in
Istanbul while jointly tossing a guy in the air from the ground until they reach
the inside of the big provincial bus.
Their lively mood enlightened the whole bus and I was startled and
confused. Everyone was laughing gaily,
it was rowdy and I didn’t have any idea at all what was happening then. The bus moved and the group of teens were all
runni afterng the moving bus waving to the guy they were tossing in mid air just
few moments ago now sitting beside me. I’ve
noticed, amongst the crowd were 2 elderly with a face glinting in a somewhat
mixture of morose and bliss. I’ve found
out later that the guy beside me now will be commencing his 12-month compulsory
military service and he will be away from home for quite a while. That was a heart-warming scene.

“Assalamu Alaykum” says my
friend’s cousin and the next thing I felt was his beard brushing both
my left and right cheeks, along with a very hard grip (the hardest handshake
I’ve had) of his right hand on mine, then a nose-to-nose to his cousin. That was different but nice. A hot cup of strong tea from this old man
wearing a brown gellabiya holding a copper serving plate came right after we’re
comfortably seated on a side street café at the Sharia as-Souq in Aswan. My newfound friend took me to a felucca tour
along the Nile River after a while, it was fun and it was a bit unlike from
most boat tours I’ve had in Palawan in that, here, it was more relax, sailing
while we took turn on smoking sheesha which made me cough a lot while sipping
sweet hot tea.

There came a donkey-drawn cart coming
near me while I was descending the bus at the small rustic terminal in Siwa
Oasis. Where has the rest of the
transportation mode gone, I murmured to myself.
The boy riding the donkey asked me (I’ve learned a bit of the Arabic
Language from Jane Wightwick’s “Arabic On The Move” CDs) if I need a ride to
the town center. I leaped onto the
wooden wagon at the back of the donkey, a primitive means of transportation
that transported me back in time and in town, literally, in a town that
resembles the wild wild west – dusty, a couple of old buildings that turned out
to be where I will be staying, some shops, cowboy-ish restaurants. It looked like old West Hollywood set, except
that local men are wearing the gellabiya and women in their traditional milayah
wraps. I brought out my camera and about
to shoot when a woman who appeared out of nowhere hollered at me, I was
appalled, and I immediately flew. This
is Siwa Oasis, taking pictures of women or even girls is totally not allowed. It’s very traditional and conservative out here,
very much unlike metropolitan Cairo or Alexandria, where you could accidentally
shoot your camera on women, though in general, one must not do that. Mine was unintentional though, I didn’t see
her there.

Then, I’ve heard a bellowing scream, I turned my head and from a
distance of about 30 meters from a small hill where I was standing aiming my
camera on the horizon - where the majestic snow-capped Mt. Ararat proudly
stands - was a man atop a 15-foot watch post standing just inside a cyclone
fence with his assault rifle tucked under his side summoning me to come near, I
hesitated for a moment, lots of things juggling inside my brain and then a
blast went off. Silence.

I was stunned frozen and confused, all at the same time, it was a quiet
chilly early morning in Dogubeyazit, people were still in slumber. That moment, my parents who passed away, my
childhood friends, my cousin who was killed in a dark street in Manila, came to
mind. I looked at my feet, legs, up to
my chest, then I turned my view at the military personnel on the watch post,
all these happening in 3-second bit. The
ear-splitting sound wasn’t from him. I’m
alive. The blast came from the town
center I’d guess.

I approached the soldier and he started speaking in his language that
the only thing I apprehended was his motioning to me the brown metal sign of a
man holding a rifle across his chest posted on the tall wire-mesh fence with
texts that says “Askeri Guvenlik Bolgesi Girilmez” translated in English just
below it “Military Security Zone Entrance Forbidden”.

Five years later, I was seated inside the jeepney on my way from Sagada
to Banaue engrossed on my book when a group of young teens (about 6 of them who
I’d deduce to be from metropolitan Manila from their looks) seated opposite me,
blabbering and laughing about the “Halo-Halo” (hodge-podge, a popular Filipino
dessert made of shaved ice, milk, sugar, sweet fruits and beans). One of them turned to me and asked if I’ve
tasted the halo-halo in Sagada while the rest were giggling with delight. I smiled and said “NO”. And they continued on cackling and started
telling me how “weird” (that’s exactly the word used) it was with some
unfamiliar ingredients like coco-crunch, macaroni pasta and skyflakes
crackers. Then they burst out with those
laughs that sounded (to me) something with a twinge of slur. I just smiled, and
right there and then came flashing like some old black and white reel film
flickering sporadically on the canvass of my mind - all those memories.

“Respect, Tolerance and Open-mind”. That’s what I’ve learned and had embedded
into my being after 2 decades of traveling in foreign lands.

My views on the diversity of people and nations changed significantly. I’ve learned to be respectful and tolerant of
others without prejudice.
I’ve learned to understand each individual or nations and their sets of
norms that led me to better understanding of the world as it revolves around
me.

People are different with different sets of customs, traditions, different
practices that govern each and every society’s daily lives. That’s the beauty of diversity.

I’m on my 25th day of drifting around my own turf - the
Philippines, and upon coming back to Sagada in a couple of days from today, I’ll
be treating myself to a glass of Halo-Halo with macaroni pasta and coco-crunch –
minus the prejudice.